A nude female body found. That was the essence of the call that came into the Homicide division of the Milwaukee Police Department on a frigid January afternoon in 2018. It was so much more than that. It was the call that began one of the most twisted true crime mysteries that this Midwestern town had seen since Jeffrey Dahmer. A puzzle of a case that would grip Detective Bryant so tightly that even now, seven years later, her mind would wander to it if she let it idle too long. Her marital status on Facebook was currently listed as "It's Complicated". She started smoking again, and not just socially the way she had prior to the onset of this case. Now it was as subconscious as breathing. Her list of unhealthy coping mechanisms also included excessive caffeine and biting her lip. She did manage to stop biting her nails by getting acrylic nails and maintaining them with regular manicures. She wasn't vain. She had just made a commitment to herself that if she was going to spend that much money on "self care" that she wouldn't do anything to ruin it. Other than smoking, which of course yellowed her fingertips. She typically chose dark colored nail polish so as not to tint it with nicotine. None of these habits really affected her job anymore now that she was on desk duty. Appearances mattered much more when she was in the field.

Field. The first victim was found in a field. She gripped her mug of tea a little bit tighter as she prepared for the memories to come flooding back. She could still feel the sting of the negative temperature on her face. How quickly her vomit froze as soon as it hit the ground. How her legs wobbled walking down the steep hill off the side of the train tracks. The copper smell of the blood and how much it contrasted with the white of the snow. How bright and complex the mural of graffiti was and what a poignant backdrop it served as for this horrendous scene. Within minutes of her arrival the area was swarming with people from the department. The team was busy photographing and collecting every single piece of anything that could be considered evidence. It was in one of these pictures that she first saw it. It was in a distinctly different handwriting from the graffiti around it. It was only one word, written in blood:

Praemeditari.

"It's Latin. It means 'Food for thought'."

"That's the understatement of the century." Her partner chuckled. He was right, but she had no idea how much that graffiti would affect her life, and his. And so many others.